I'll Always Go With You
by Restless Imaginator
Summary: When the Mark of Cain was destroyed, the darkness was not the only thing released. Two fallen archangels were out for blood and revenge against the one responsible. Post Season 10 one-shot. Destiel Bromance/friendship. Rated T for violence
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! This is just a mulit-chapter one-shot that takes place Season 11 of Supernatural. It is rather dark and full of angst since I use writing to channel and cope with my emotions. If you find any glaring mistakes or inaccuracies, shoot me a review and I'll be glad to fix it! If not, I hope you enjoy the story and let me know what you thought of it anyway. I love hearing from you guys :) It keeps me writing.**

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"I already told you, you son of a bitch! I don't know!" Dean struggled and writhed against his bonds, twisting the chains that abraded his skin so they chafed uncomfortably. Red, puckered skin pinched through, hotly dripping sticky blood down his fingers from between his swollen hands.

In an instant, Dean felt himself slam backward against the unrelenting cement, a sickening crack sending a white flash to film over his eyes. He was vaguely aware of blistering breath against his neck and Sam's incessant cries for them to stop through the veil of agony. Metallic liquid filled his mouth and seeped through the cracks of his teeth that threatened to crack like porcelain. "Listen to me, you hairless ape," Lucifer spat in his face. "Cain's mark was the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. That kind of magic doesn't just _disappear_!"

"Brother," Michael admonished from next to the younger Winchester. "We'll need him whole once we find a way to restore the mark again." This only caused Lucifer to further encroach on Dean's personal space leaving him to think bitterly what it was about these damned angels that made them so ignorant to human behavior.

Dean gritted his teeth, baring them at the fallen angel while slamming his tongue against the roof of his mouth to expel the blood through chapped lips. He felt it dribble down his chin and mingle with the trails already forged by the stone knuckles of the celestial beings.

After the darkness had been released, it came spiraling down on them with the force of twenty hurricanes, consuming their lungs and pulsing the thick stench of sin through their veins. When the two archangels had "mojoed" them out of the eye of the storm and into the highest floor of a protected warehouse for interrogation, Dean thought first that Cas had rescued them. But the fleeting moment of relief was evanescent and replaced instead with the genesis of horror regarding what the mark had truly released: two archangels vengeful for the destroyer of their toils. He'd realized this when Sam had disappeared from his side and they'd hauled him bodily to his feet, dragging him to where he now hung limply, stripped of dignity.

"You know as well as I do that it had taken an entire army—a _fleet_ of our brothers and sisters to contain this force at our Father's will. It will take more than just the blood of a mere mortal to assuage this burden," Lucifer's words hissed between his lips with steaming venom that curled like Hell's wrath. Dean was all too familiar with the caliber of pain that followed so he cringed away from the fallen angel in hopes of staunching the plague of memories that threatened to break the bulwark of his conscience.

The sharp jab of an angel blade pressed between his ribs and scraped precariously against the bones, threatening to break the skin that had been pulled taught at the steel. Dean was trapped.

"And we will find a way," Michael stalked forward a step. "But clearly, this isn't working." Dean's breath hitched in his throat at the notion of the paralyzing dichotomy that accompanied those words. On one hand, it was a promise to the end of this torture. But that could only mean something worse lay ahead. Although, he wasn't sure how much more they wished for them to endure. Already he'd been beaten and stabbed with same tools he had once used on souls trapped in Hell's stinking pits. And if there was one side he knew more than the dealer's, it was the victim's. There had been some immunity he'd built up from the decades of blades of whips, but this time, it was a body instead of soul. There was only so much he could physically handle and they were about to test another method, another limit of this "meat suit" as they called it.

"He isn't lying," Sam damn near begged from across the room, tugging at the wall that secured his own bonds with futile strength. "We've already told you everything we know!"

"No," Lucifer said darkly, a murderous gleam glowing behind his eyes. " _He_ has told us everything he knows. _You_ on the other hand—"

With a sudden anagnorisis of broiling terror, Dean snarled, "You lay one friggin finger on him and I swear to God I'll kill you myself!"

"Please do not swear by our Father's name," Michael rumbled lowly, malice coloring his eyes with a glacial blue that smoldered with the ironic power of Grace.

Lucifer ignored his brother. "Oh, but you won't, Dean," he cooed. "Because that's just the Winchester way. It takes the sacrifice of one to bring forth the desperation of the other. And that's just what I plan on finding from you. The desperation to save your brother will prove stronger than that of saving yourself. Maybe this will loosen the cinders on your tongue." In rapid succession, Michael's fist connected with Sam's stomach and sent him quailing inwardly against himself.

A feral yell tore its way viciously through Dean's vocal chords, rending at the sinews. "Sammy!" he roared as another punch uppercut his brother's mandible, snapping his jaw against his skull to send his head flying backward. Watching them hurt Sam was worse than any punishment he'd endured thus far. And he'd be damned if he let them touch his brother again. "You want the darkness back where it belongs, you bastards?!" Dean howled and thrashed, his hands burning to kill, "Find the bitch whose magic zapped it away in the first place and I'll let you tattoo the damn thing back onto my arm!"

"Dean…" Sam gurgled weakly in protest. Michael hoisted him up from his knees in preparation for another round at his brother's word.

He couldn't bring himself to meet Sam's gaze; it would be his undoing. "But you let Sam go, you hear?! This has nothing to do with him!" Dean didn't need to mark to feel the violence coursing through his body in tremors that would unleash a world of hate when he got free.

"The _hell_ it doesn't!" Lucifer snarled with something akin to savage barbarity and wrested a handful of Dean's hair into his hand, yanking to expose his neck as wolves might do to establish dominance. "Everything that has gone to shit so far has been at the hands of you squatting, mud monkeys!" He retained his vice grip but turned back to Michael and jabbed his jaw once in a directed nod. "Again, brother."

The archangels were right about one thing: Dean's desperation drove him past the point of no return and his resolve finally shattered. With as much strength as he could muster, he sent his knee hurtling into Lucifer's gut and watched with deranged satisfaction as it made him quiver and furl like burning parchment or salted slugs. It did the job. Michael forgot about Sam and all attention and focus turned on him.

"Augh!" he shrieked in pain and Dean slipped from his grasp as Lucifer's hands scrabbled against his abdomen. In all their acclaimed righteousness, it looked as though Daddy forgot to restore their angelic immunity to pain. They were still tainted and unfit in the eyes of any God.

Sam's eyes widened in their sockets as he watched the two angels from hell descend upon his brother. He'd already taken so much. Why would he take this too?

"I'll send you back to hell when this is over!" The words had no origin. Dean didn't even register the jabs or throttles anymore. The mist was too thick and one of his eyes had swollen shut mercifully. And so, when the fog cleared momentarily, it was to Dean's horrified chagrin as the aggregated extent of his wounds came flaring into a prospective scope. But why? Why now was he so conscious?

A whirlwind of holy light and ruffle of feathers deemed worthy to answer and suddenly there was a fifth presence in the warehouse. A familiar, grave voice growled with a cadent tone Dean had never heard before, "Get your hands off my charge."

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 **Let me know if this is worth continuing. I look forward to hearing your thoughts about this piece!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Me again! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Here's another :) Let me know what you think! I love reviews**

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Instantly, the pain of attack had vanished from around him and he stared blearily through the haze of his wounds, blood wetting his lips. "Cas?" His stomach dropped. Dean had withheld his prayers to the angel in hopes that he wouldn't come. He'd saved their asses one too many times; Dean wouldn't be able to live with himself if this damned mark was what took him away forever.

He blinked the blood from his eyes and saw it was just as he thought. A beige trench coat swam and reeled in his vision, its owner standing defiantly against the Lord's most dangerous archangels. One lone angel to stand between charge and seraph because his true weakness was the love he fostered for humanity.

"Little brother," Lucifer warbled and stepped away from the damaged man. Castiel tried to reign in his focus away from the bright glow of Dean's soul and rather affix it to the cursed black marks before him that preyed on stolen Grace. But the Righteous Man was a beacon despite his battered vessel, serving as a constant reminder that the light of his soul was being purged—tarnished at the hands of these devils because of his mistake. He had done this. He had put the Winchesters in danger. And he would get them out or die trying.

"I said," he continued threateningly, "get your hands off my charge." Each word was spoken with declarative pointedness, stabbing with dangerous malice in which he would not hesitate to indulge if his orders were failed to be heeded.

Dean tried to convey his contrition the best way he could, lifting his eyes to meet the deep sapphire's that burned above him. A flicker of pain momentarily creased Cas' brow before his face was once again marble, his jaw set with the same authority he'd once directed Heaven's army's with. He must have made one hell of a commander and Dean feared what side of his angel had been unearthed as he stood before the felled brothers responsible for so much debauchery and reprehensible iniquity. This Cas was not a force to be reckoned with.

"Sorry, Cassie," Lucifer stepped forward, largely obscuring Dean as a wicked smirk contorted his features. "These boys have been naughty and must do penance. Dad's orders," he shrugged.

"And how do you think," Castiel began, "I garnered my Grace?" An ethereal glow bloomed under his blue tie and percolated his torso until the wraithlike radiance had claimed the furthest of his extremities. Fire was burning inside the angel and it blazed in his eyes with consummate supremacy.

"Step aside little brother," Lucifer warned thickly, his sticky voice doing nothing to impede the efforts of the ex-commander.

"Castiel," Michael spat, his own eyes taking to light. "Don't." Lucifer followed suit, his core heating up with the infernos of Hell. Neither could match the power that had been instilled by their Lord in the small, trench-coated man that stood rooted in all his indignant reprisal before them.

In response, Dean watched as the silver glint of an archangel blade flashed down from the sleeve of his coat and slid into a clenched hand. Before the glow intensified to the point where Dean had to shield his eyes to keep them from singing from his skull, he watched the immense shadow of Cas' wings expand across the wall behind them, stretching and unfurling with newfound, majestic fervor. The tips curled inwardly as a sign of hostility and Dean felt his chest swell. Cas knew Sam was Dean's first priority, and he'd strategically placed himself in front of the younger Winchester.

"You're going to fall on your own sword," Lucifer said. That galvanized it—the dam broke and chaos flooded forth drowning the three angels in a blinding light that had Dean and Sam cowering against the walls, clenching shut their eyes from the heat of the garrison unleashed.

When the flash faded to mortal proficiency, Dean lashed upward, eyes searching frantically for Sam only to find him executing the same course of actions just where he'd been before. The room was empty save the two brothers. "Dean!" Sam called out. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Dean gagged out before stating robotically. "You?"

Sam nodded tautly, his jaw still slack from the shock of the events that were only seconds transpired. A violet bruise was blossoming over his chin but he knew he was going to heal up good as new so long as they got out of here. "Dean, we've gotta find a way to get out of here," his voice was harried in fear while he fiddled with the locks behind him. "Before they come back." His cuffs rattled noisily.

"Roger that," Dean puffed, "let's blow this friggin' popsicle stand, get Cas and get out of here. How many floors you think we got to worry about here?" He craned his neck to see but was met with cement and more cement. There were no windows near enough to gauge an altitude. Sam shook his head despondently.

"Hey, you got a nail or something? A knife?" Sam asked, wriggling his hands. "Anything to pick these?" He lifted his arms as high as the chains allowed, letting them dangle in display while his eyebrows moved closer to his hairline, pinching to a peak in the center.

If the situation weren't so dire, Dean might have laughed at his brother's farcical request and puppy eyes. What did he look like, Bob the Builder? He would have busted them out two hours ago if either of those had been in his possession. As it was, all mirth had been claimed by the darkness raging outside and left two shells of pure humanity waiting like lame sheep to be preyed upon by the wolves.

Before Dean could give him a proper answer and work on formulating a new plan, a flutter of wings alerted them to their wits again. Both stiffened and their muscles coiled in anticipation of the fallen archangels' return but were instantly relieved to see their holy tax-collector standing before them alive and intact, albeit roughed around the edges.

Castiel swayed on his feet, a deep gash marring his brow while blood and Grace mingled sickeningly on his forehead. The angel blade hanging from his hand was saturated in deep crimson and dripped with calculated precision onto the filthy floor.

"Cas—" Sam heard Dean's voice catch as he took in his condition. Likewise, his bonds abruptly stopped jingling like he'd pulled against them in vain efforts to reach and steady him.

"I'm fine," Cas lied smoothly through his teeth, his tenacity of composure persevering. Sam had to hand it to him; the man who lacked 'people skills' that weren't rusty knew well how to maintain a poised veneer in face of protecting his friends. But his stomach twisted at the realization of where he learned it from.

"They won't be gone long," he panted, "we need to leave." When Castiel made to move toward Dean, the elder Winchester shook his head. Knowing there was no time to argue, the angel halted immediately, recognition dawning on him the moment he met the hunter's gaze.

"Please," Dean pleaded.

"Dean?" Sam pushed himself up further in an attempt to fathom their knowing look.

Without another word, Castiel spun around and made for Sam, his fingers already stretching to touch his forehead. "Cas, what are you—" Sam understood too late, his heart leaping to his throat at the prospect of leaving his brother behind just before he disappeared under Cas' touch, his empty cuffs clanking to the floor in absence of their hostage.

Dean sagged against the wall, a sliver of his mind at peace with Sammy's safety guaranteed, just as he'd promised.

"Now, we make haste, Dean," Castiel said, briskly moving toward him. They were going to get out of here. They were going to go home and fix all of this.

But just before Cas could reach his charge, a sudden electric current ran static through the air, combing its knots with searing fingers that made Dean's hair stand up on end. He saw Cas' feet stutter just as a looming form materialized between the two.

"Where have you sent him, Castiel?" poison laced Lucifer's voice. The ex-angel was panting heavily, blood oozing freely from a deep gash over his shoulder.

"Back where he belongs," Castiel inclined his head dangerously and made a move toward Dean.

Lucifer blocked his path, causing Dean to bristle. This cocky son of a bitch thought he owned him. When he got free, he was going to show that dick with wings where he could shove his angel blade.

"Not today," Lucifer muttered with vicious intent. A flash of red scorched Dean's retinas momentarily before he gathered what he was seeing. Two enormous wings, rust red, extended from Lucifer's scapulae and filled the room, wall to wall. They burned with a patina only gathered from Hell's deepest quarries and ash and sin fell from them in twisted, black snowflakes as though he'd harbored remaining vestiges of damnation between the feathers of his wings. With a jolt, Dean gave acknowledgement to the notion that he'd never before laid eyes on the true wings of an angel before. Why then was he still able to see? Something about the darkness must have been weakening the power of their true forms, enabling mortal eyes to gaze upon them anew.

Just as this grasp rooted itself in his conscience, Dean watched Cas twitch, eyes rolling. A wet tear much like steamed fabric punctured over the deafening howl of winds and his angel let his own jet black annexes come bursting forth, cerulean Grace spilling and spitting from the tips in stark contrast to Hell's abominations. They were dwarfed by the red appendages but they stood mightily still, the final act of defiance.

But that wasn't what troubled Dean. What had his fear spiking in his stomach, his diaphragm shoving air through his lungs in horror, his heart hammering like one wild was the look in Cas' eyes. He knew that look better than anyone. It had once found Bobby, fell in the form of tears from Jo and Ellen, stole his brother from him for months. Hell he'd seen that same look staring back at him in the mirror. The look of one already damned. In a last ditch effort, Dean tried shaking his head at his friend, praying he would listen to him for once in his life. But Cas was a child who bade no man's word in times like these. And he was going to get himself killed just to save one human.

Not if Dean could help it. A length of chain behind him had rattled loose, extending the amount of Dean's bonds to a maneuverable amount. It wasn't much, but it would suffice. Lunging with regressive ferocity, he wound the chain around Lucifer's neck and pulled till his last ounce of strength had forged an iron prison of manacles, reveling in the feeling of the man squirming beneath him while Cas jerked forward involuntarily to protect his charge.

A wild cry pierced Dean's tympanic membrane with enough force to rupture them bleeding. He felt the sultry blood tacky against his canals and realized Lucifer must have been utilizing his true voice for the cement behind them began to rupture and split inwardly. They were going to bring the building down. Already, leaks of darkness had exploited the momentary lapse in fortification and delved around them, pitching Dean and Lucifer dangerously.

Cas watched as the white aura of Dean's essence tugged away from him, the tendrils just beyond his grasp and he pushed himself towards his brothers, one designated, one chosen. His celestial crux threatened to burst free of his vessel that was too slow, too slow. He'd never reach them in time before—

Dean felt Lucifer buck and thrash madly until the leash he'd fastened the mutt with unraveled and he was falling. Falling into the darkness liberated against his flesh once more. He thanked God, Castiel, whoever would listen that Sam wasn't with him right now. He was safe. And the turpitude that whistled through his soul—snuffing the light from it with lethal lattices—could give him its best shot. Because Dean was well rehearsed in the consequences of dancing with depravity. Both partners would whirl around the other until the mellifluous curse stopped its bewitching song. And as Dean tumbled down, he felt the music cue in refrain.

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 **Should I keep going? Not getting too much interest, so I may just scrap this :/ Let me know! Shoot me a review**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to all who came to read! I wouldn't be here without you guys :) This chapter is a little shorter. But don't worry; I have a nice long one planned next. And for my devoted followers, don't worry, there will be plenty of Dean!whump to come so stay tuned and I hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

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Something was amiss. Usually Dean would have already been plundered by waves of darkness and sin. Yet all he felt was a slight trickle across his puckered brow that stung like an itch he couldn't scratch. It was unpleasant, but it was bearable which was worryingly aberrant. Time had slowed down. He had been falling for hours it seemed. So when he traced the arcane stream of damnation back up to where the dirtied ground had first abandoned him, he suddenly realized why.

A funnel of Grace and permeated through the thick stench of evil, slicing a path of holiness through the winds of abomination through which Dean tumbled. And at its apex, leading the suicide crusade, Castiel who hadn't wasted any thought in leaping after him, his angelic glow pulsing while his terrified, azure irises locked with the hunter's forest ones. Black wings arched in fraught strain, reaching for its falling soul, all the while projecting a shield of Grace to guard him against corruption as he fell.

Just before Dean could acquaint himself with the rugged terrain below and surrender his life, he felt the onyx tips of Cas' wings curl around his flailing limbs and wrap him close, holding him against his chest. He sensed himself reeling and then a huge vibration rent profound lacerations through his core.

He groaned and bit his cheeks to staunch the flow of prickly tears brimming over his bottom lids. As he shifted, he felt something beneath him responded and allowed himself to see the prone form of his angel lying beneath him, arms and wings still wrapped around him in their final act of salvation. A paroxysm paralyzed Dean upon accepting the truth that Cas had taken the brute of the fall, lessening the impact with his own body.

Immediately, he was untangling himself from the limp arms as gently but quickly as he could. The black wings unfolded lifelessly and spread out behind the mussed raven hair and tanned trench coat, sprawled unceremoniously like a fan. "Cas, you stupid son of bitch, wake up!" He shook his shoulders, one hand finding procurement against the rough cheek that held no smile, no scowl, no confusion, no movement. Nothing. Too empty. He needed to see him open his eyes again and tilt his head, Dean's name spilling from his lips as it always did. But not even breath filtered over Dean's hand when it traced its way across his face. He tried to shake life back into the angel.

"Cas!" Dean pulled desperately against the angel's shoulders, yanking him towards him. But his head lolled back, dangling between his wings that lay broken and languished. The dome of Grace surrounding them and keeping the contending foes at bay was flickering like a short-circuited battery.

But this mattered naught to Dean Winchester. He hastily pulled the unconscious angel into his lap and rested him against his chest, carefully minding his wings that dragged behind him while his head fell against his shoulder inertly. "No, no, no, you do _not_ get to do this again. You do _not_ get to leave me, you hear!?" Dean held his angel with gentle tenacity, as if he could somehow order him to breathe, command his heart to beat, will the life back into him by surrendering his own. " _Cas!_ "

When the click of a gun loading behind him breached his ears, Dean couldn't bring himself to care. In fact, he welcomed the promise the gun brought. Death would be nigh and saluted. And he didn't even care that he and Sam had been too daft to consider the possibility of demon goons waiting for them at every level, guarding this place like an evil archangel stronghold would be expected. He didn't care that there were probably hundreds more being drawn toward him and Cas at this very moment because of the beacon of ether encapsulating them. He didn't care. Dean Winchester was numb and alone. He'd never felt so alone, holding the empty body of his closest friend and feeling the warmth of life leaving his shattered form.

"Let the feathered rat go, mate," a baritone voice echoed behind him. "And we'll take ye' back up to Lucifer." Of course, they still needed him for that damned mark. Dean wanted to turn around and tell them to stick it where the sun shines, but he didn't have the strength. He barely heard them.

"Cas, you stupid dick, wake up," he said into his neck as he buried his head against his shoulder, embracing him as strong as he dared. His voice discordantly splintered. "I need you." Because screw everyone else. Cas had always been enough. But he couldn't feel his presence anymore and he curled over him in anguish, tears leaking out from his eyes and dripping down Cas' face as though he had shed them himself.

"Don't make me shoot ye', boy," the demon ordered.

When Dean still didn't move, a warning shot fired next to Dean's leg. He twisted so he couldn't see the bastards and held on tight.

"Last time I'll tell ye'. The next shot won't miss." The barrel reloaded.

Sam was safe. Cas was gone. Let the bullets come.

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 **Reviews taste delicious. Even if you think this story is just 'meh' let me know! Until tomorrow folks :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello again, everyone! This chapter is almost three times as long as yesterdays to make up for its shortness. Also, I guess you could kind of consider this the calm before the storm. I leave for college in three days but this should be finished in two. Stay tuned for angst! And I hope you enjoy this chapter :)**

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And they did. Slow to start. Pressure came first. He felt the jolt as it ripped through his shoulder, embedding itself in his blade. The pain registered next, flaming over his entire being in a ripple of agony. The moment the bullet had lodged itself deep in Dean's bone, he felt something shift. All of a sudden, the man in his arms stiffened and his blue eyes snapped open wildly.

Cas hadn't realized he'd been out until he felt something wrest him back. There had been Dean falling, racing into the arms of his reaper. He'd nested him against the safety of his vessel, drawing him close, and then…there'd been nothing. Mere blackness shrouded him like a swaddled baby. But then he'd felt it. His charge had been hurt. He could feel it, sense the pure soul trickling out a wound, dying. And he couldn't abandon him. Dean was in danger and Cas had to save him. He would always save the Winchesters.

"Hey," Dean patted his cheek with an anxious hand that shook despite all efforts to stay collected. "Hey. You with me?"

"Dean—" he gurgled out in response. Dean crushed his friend to him in a furious embrace, clutching onto his grimy trench coat with stabbing desperation that consumed him from the inside out. He could have sobbed when he saw the life return to his friend. But that was after he realized that they were sitting ducks about to be plucked for soup. Reason had returned and suddenly he was scrambling, sliding his hands under Castiel's arms to hoist him up, supporting most of his weight as he regathered his unstable bearings.

"Dammit, Cas! Move!"

Another shot fired and ricocheted by their feet, making Dean hop and shove Cas onward. But Cas didn't budge. "No, Dean," his grave voice rasped. Even he knew they were not going to make it out with guns at their backs. But, dammit, they had to try.

Too late. Always too late. "Open fire!"

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The glass rattled with another plink of metal as the bullet finally was gutted from Dean's shoulder. He winced at Sam's tugging of the stitches although the pain was markedly less than that which followed the pliers fishing around his wound.

"Sorry," Sam allowed, but he persisted, determined to not ease up on his lacing until his brother was patched again. "You know," he cleared his throat, already knowing the response, "this could heal up a lot faster if you just—"

"No," Dean interrupted him, "No way in hell is he going to heal me with his angel mojo."

"Dean—"

"He can't take it, Sammy," Dean's eyes were penetrating, his gaze as firm as his resolve. "And I won't do that to him," his voice was thick and deep with pain.

Sam regarded him with pity, his gaze shifting between Dean's eyes as if he was searching for testimony. "Yeah, okay," he nodded, dropping his eyes and wiping the blood from his hands on the towel. He tossed it onto the cart of gauze and alcohol before picking up the ice pack. "But that means you've got to take care of yourself," he spoke as if Dean were a stubborn schoolboy in need of instruction for not doing his homework. "And take it easy for a while until you've got your energy back. The darkness will still be there to fight when you get better."

Dean accepted the cold pack jerkily. This wasn't sophomore year health class. "I know how to ice a few bumps and bruises, Sam," was his huskily indignant reply.

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam cursed, throwing down the rag he'd picked up again. "This wasn't one of your stupid bar fights that leaves you with an ill-timed hangover and a minor injury! You could have died!" He enunciated histrionically to make his point.

"You don't think I know that?" Dean pushed himself off the counter, affronted. "You don't think I read those friggin' terms and conditions before I signed up for this? We chose this life, Sam! We chose it knowing how fast things could fall to crap!" His head had tilted dangerously as he approached his brother who'd fixed his scrutiny and jaw strongly elsewhere.

"That doesn't warrant you tying your own noose," Sam muttered, brow pinching in silent rage.

Dean took a step back and his countenance slipped. He managed to catch it before it crumbled completely and settled for a calmer visage. After a beat of silence he tried again. "The noose had already been tied;" he spoke softly, "I only chose whose neck it would break."

A rattled gasp bubbled up through Sam's lips and he scoffed. "I thought we were done sacrificing ourselves for each other." It was not a question.

Leaning his weight back against the counter, Dean tried to get his muscles to smoothen out. "Yeah, well," he cleared his throat and tossed his brother a smirk. "You heard the bastard." Sam frowned with curiosity heavy on his lids. "It's the Winchester way." He clapped Sam on the shoulder once before shoving off his elbows and ambling away in search of a beer.

The minute Dean was out of sight of his brother, he let himself sag and clutched his ribs as salient pain took him and gripped tight his torso. God, he hoped he wasn't hemorrhaging. Sweat clung to his neck and flushed his face with mottled rubicund. Everywhere on his body either felt inflamed or necrotized. And he swore he was going to gank those flying dickbags as soon as his legs could sustain his own weight again.

Beer would not be strong enough to mask the throbbing aches and stings which were tormenting his body with a steady hand. He needed sleep, and lots of it. He waded through the bunker, making sure to bolster himself with any form of support: a table, chair, wall, counter. His room wasn't too far from his current position. He could make it by himself it he just stopped being a little bitch and rubbed some dirt on it. Or so he thought.

A sight made him stop and grab the corner of the wall with both hands for support.

"Cas—" Dean whispered as he took in the image before him. With his angel powers restored, Castiel should have been in mint condition to heal himself and mojo his wounds away. But that wasn't what had happened.

Sprawled on his stomach with blood and Grace still leaking from his wounds was Dean's angel. His magnificent wings were bent awkwardly above him and hung like dead curtains over his trench coat as though they were toys with broken hinges. A deep stain had bloomed over the cushions and dampened the pitch feathers with a gory luster.

"Dean?"

Dean didn't waste another moment before he pushed himself to his friend's side, sliding on his knees to hide his own pain. "What the hell happened, Cas?" He left him no time to answer before firing another question. "Why haven't you healed yourself yet?" After the demons had opened fire on the two, Cas had thrown his wings over Dean again as a shield, bullets peppering and destroying his glossy feathers. Then, before Dean could gather himself enough to shove his stupid friend out of the path of fire, he was standing in their bunker, Sam upon them not seconds later with frantic hands. Cas had draped the maimed Dean over his brother's shoulders and backed up against the wall. He must have slunk off while Sam patched him up and Dean hadn't thought twice about it, thinking he could just wave his magic hand and do some standard maintenance repairs on the old vessel. But this was the last thing he'd expected.

"I—" Cas swallowed with great effort. "I do not know." Formality still directed his tone even like this. Dean wanted to laugh. So badly he wanted to laugh with Cas again. "Dean, I need to tell you something." But if the hunter heard his words, he ignored them, attention glued to his medical responsibilities.

Dean traced the streams of the glowing Grace back to their source to see them leaking from his night-filled wings. The wounds glowed like stars over the nebulous black, making horrific constellations in the vessel of the seraph. Making to move toward tending to his wings, Dean suddenly something firm around his wrist, preventing engagement. He looked down and saw Cas had reached out and restrained him from coming any closer with an arm as stiff as a two-by-four. It was as though all his effort had been channeled to keeping Dean's touch away. Baffled, Dean shot him an incredulous look only to be met with one twice as fierce.

"What, I cut myself shaving?" He asked, his typical quips returned.

"It was me," Cas strangled out.

"What?" Dean scowled in bemusement. "What was you? What are you talking about?"

"The mark," so much pain resided in his blue irises and dilated his pupils in shame, "it was me that destroyed it."

Dean rolled back onto his heels at the news, lips parting as though he needed more openings for the truth to inhabit. "How?" was all he could get out. He'd redefine Hell for the angel if he found out Cas had made some sort of deal on his behalf.

"Rowena," Cas grunted, "and Crowley. We found a spell. I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't know this would happen." After managing to spew his guilt, the burden of holding it was lifted and his grip considerably slackened, slipping from Dean's green jacket. Although the weight of his culpability still clung to his conscience and bogged his limbs, weakening him beyond measure.

"Yeah, well, I'm not entirely sure anyone knew until it was too late. What I want to know was whose ass you had to kiss to free me of it. 'Cause Cas, I swear to God, if there's a price on your head—"

"It's already been paid," Cas ground out, slipping back into the cushions that could have swallowed the small angel. "Rowena cast the Attack Dog spell on me so I would turn on everyone I trusted and held dear. Fortunate was on my side, though, for I was restored at God's hand to full power and the spell was simultaneously revoked."

Dean sighed deeply, pulling a hand through his hair. "There isn't much we can do about it now. I don't know what Sam and I would be without you, though. You gotta stop raffling off pieces of yourself to save us, man. We need every part of you."

"If there was some way I could make it better—fix this—Dean, you know I would do it," he pushed. "Maybe I could go to Michael, reason with him, make him understand—"

"Absolutely not," Dean cut him off, hoping to nip his stupid kamikaze plan in the bud. "No one will be going near any archangel around here, understand?"

"He's my brother. If he knows it wasn't you, if I tell him the truth—"

"Dammit, Cas! Then they'll come after _you_ and kill _you_!" He thrust his hands up in exasperation, "And that just isn't gonna fly with me. Sorry, but it's just not. So you can quit it with the 'reconciliation' crap and let me tend to you before you permanently stain this couch!" Something must have worked because Castiel held his tongue after that, watching his human warily as he moved forward again with renewed intention.

His hands shook but he forced them to smooth over the upper ridge of Cas' wings.

All of a sudden, there was a flurry of feathers and a cry of surprise. "I'm sorry!" Dean retracted his touch immediately. "I didn't mean to hurt you! We just gotta get these bullets out of your wings, man. You can't heal with pieces of metal imbedded in you."

"S'okay," Cas grunted. "You did not hurt me. I was…surprised. No mortal has ever laid hands on my wings before."

Dean floundered awkwardly. Did that mean he shouldn't touch Cas' wings? Technically, he had touched them before when Cas had saved him. But that was different—less intimate in a way. Was it some unholy offense? No, screw that. His angel was suffering and he wasn't going to think twice about those stuffy bastards that left their own brother down here to fend for himself. "Sorry, buddy, but I don't give two shits about your siblings' anal rulebook of righteousness, or whatever crap they spew these days."

"I know, Dean," Cas said. Dean swore he could hear a smile on his voice but didn't look to check. His focus was stolen too intently for the wounds that riddled his form.

So he decided to try again, taking a breath to assure himself of his stability before reaching down and running a soothing hand over the spine of his wings again to feel for any breaks. The feathers beneath his hands were soft as silk and quivered at his touch like some type of electric current ran through them when his skin made contact with heavenly property.

Dean stole a glance at his friend to check his progress only to find his celestial gaze concealed behind clenched lids and his bottom lip buried under his teeth. Whether it was pain or discomfort, Dean slowed down to ease up, but he didn't stop. Carefully, he made his way down toward the axillars, where the wings melded with his shoulders. A bump against his hand alerted him to a break that needed mending. And to confirm his suspicions, Cas had stiffened considerably when he'd brushed over the area. This was going to hurt, but it had to be done. Dean didn't warn him, it would only aggregate the stacking anxiety and the last thing they needed was a spooked angel. Instead, he braced his forearm as gingerly as possible against the posterior surface and a firm hand on the other side before giving a momentous shove.

"A-auhh!" Cas cried out in pain, his body contorting as the ligament popped back into place. His fist found its way into his mouth and he bit furiously into the knuckle.

"I'm sorry!" Dean ushered. And he was. Cas shouldn't have been like this still and the idea of his powers failing him scared Dean. Really scared him. But as sorry as he felt for causing him such agony, he'd do it again if it meant healing him. "Sorry," he spoke softly but urgently and rubbed the soreness from the spot with a tender hand. He kneaded gently at the muscles and extended them gradually until a sigh escaped Cas.

Dean continued his way down toward the axle and pressed lightly to feel any polyps or puckers. Cas twitched oddly beneath him. "Cas?" he asked. "Is there discomfort here?" He massaged the area again and watched for his reaction.

"No," Cas ground out with difficulty. "That," he paused, searching while he basked in the pleasure, "feels extraordinary."

Dean pulled away awkwardly and sat back. "Oh," he finally managed, rubbing the back of his neck with a weighted hand. "Uh—"

"It's a sensitive area," Cas assured him softly. There was no affliction in his words.

Dean nodded before inching back to his place to continue angelic first-aid on the mangled creature before him. "Right, well uh…if there aren't any more fractures I should set, we need to get those dingers out of your wings."

Cas nodded wordlessly and set his face in a stoic mien for the next round of pain.

This half of the restoration was much more amicable than the setting of breaks. Dean merely tweezed out the bits of ammo and dropped them in a cup of alcohol before pouring a little more antiseptic over the area. He wasn't sure if angels could foster infections, but he didn't want to find out.

And Cas was a tolerant patient. He'd only earned a few grimaces and grunts of pain while he worked diligently, splicing the torn wings back together and trying to keep as much liquid Grace in as possible. At one point, Cas's hand had shot out and grabbed hold of Dean's sleeve for support. It had alarmed the hunter at first, but he noticed considerable improvement in Cas' forbearance to treatment with this anchor. So he relented.

"Son of a bitch," Dean stated slowly as he pulled out the final shard of bullet and held it up to his nose. Grace began pooling in the last bleeding hole in Castiel's wings and the tissue started splurging together in webs of sinews before feathers covered the area. A final quiver of muscles ran across the holy appendages.

"Come again?" Cas asked, his lids fluttering in exhaustion.

"You know why you couldn't heal yourself?" Dean was fuming. Cas didn't respond. "Those bastards carved Enochian on their ammunition! These bullets were laced with magic making it friggin' _impossible_ for you to mojo yourself back to normal!"

"Dean," Cas tried to console his irate charge.

"How many more of these damn bullets would it have taken to kill you, huh?!"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but I am okay now, Dean."

That wasn't good enough. He wanted to gank himself some archangel hide if it was the last thing he did on this godforsaken earth.

"Dean."

Cas brought him back to the present. "Sorry, man," Dean apologized as he moved to get up. "You should get some rest, now. I'll go make sure Sam has secured the bunker correctly this time."

"Let me heal you," Cas said.

Dean faltered, feeling Cas' hand still firmly clenched in his sleeve. "Cas—"

"Please."

It took a moment's consideration before he slapped his hands against his thighs and answered. "Tell you what. You get some rest, heal up completely, and then I'll let you worry about me. For now," he placed a hand on Cas' arm so they were linked arm in arm, "keep your mojo. Put yourself before me for once."

"I won't."

"Well, neither will I," Dean said more sharply than he intended. "I'm not letting you drain yourself so I can look pretty again." He tried to stand up but found it easier said than done. Not to mention, Cas had still refused to relinquish his grip on his charge.

"You're weak, Dean. You need to rest."

Scrunching his face in ire, Dean finally conceded and slumped back to the floor heavily, chest heaving with the strenuous effort. "Okay," he huffed, "okay." He turned when he heard a noise behind him and saw Castiel shifting to make room for him on the couch. "Ahh, I think I'm good down here, bud."

"Will you sleep?" Cas eyed him, reprimand waiting to flow forth at the wrong answer.

"Maybe."

"Sleep, Dean."

As it turned out, feeling the presence of his angel behind him calmed him significantly to the point where unconsciousness was sneaking up to claim his fretful mind and he collapsed back against the cushions. He tried to fight it, scared of what might happen while he was out. What if Sam and Cas took off to fight without him? Sam was more than capable of cooking up stupid-ass ideas like that and Cas was like a puppy wishing to please his master. He'd follow his brother at the slightest utterance. So Dean found his arm snaking its way through crease in the couch and encountering Cas' trench coat. He grabbed a handful of the fabric and held it tight, not caring if Cas was aware or not of his necessity to cling. Dumb son of bitch wasn't going anywhere or indulging in any guilty conscience on his watch.

His mind now at ease, Dean drifted weightlessly, his torso propped bodily against the couch, his head falling against the cushions. The last thing he felt before drifting off into a restless but deep slumber was the light pressure of a wing draping over his shoulder.

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 **Please review and leave your thoughts! I read them all :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Good morning, everyone! Last update before the tragic finale! The road only gets bumpy from here. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)**

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Oppressive light filtered its way through his lids when Dean eventually came around. Confusion meddled his thoughts and placed a haze over his memories of the events transpired. While he groggily gathered his bearings, Dean forced his eyes to open, wiping the sleep from his features with a stiff hand. In fact, his whole body was stiff from his night on the floor. Why then was it so soft where he was now? And there was something else that was…off. It was too hard to place what exactly he was feeling that was so peculiar, but—

The full capacity of what had happened came flooding back through the gates of his mind in a flux of senses. The mark, the darkness, Sam and Cas, those friggin' archangels, the mark. Everything started and ended with Cain's stupid curse. Bolting up, he twisted about, eyes wild as he took in his situation. He was still in the bunker, in the same room he'd fallen asleep in. The realization calmed him to a degree. They'd momentarily escaped the wrath of Lucifer and Michael. They could figure a way to defeat them just as they always had. So why did he _still_ feel something he knew he shouldn't?

As if divine intervention sought to answer him, something slipped from his torso. Dean's attention flicked down to a tanned trench coat splayed over him like a blanket, nesting warmth against his rigid limbs. Dean's chest tightened at the display of affection and realized Cas must have draped it over him after moving him to a more comfortable position on the couch while he slept.

 _Shit. Cas._

Dean ripped the beige coat away from his body and found every single part of him shiny and new again. The dumb son of a bitch had healed him. And it was then Dean realized he'd never felt so stupid before in his life. Of course Cas wasn't going to listen to him about being selfish. This was _Cas_ they were talking about—the same angel who gave up an entire army for one man, fell from heaven for that same man, killed and rebelled against his own kind to save him, and was hunted and tracked for—right again—Dean. Why would this time be any different?

An audible groan escaped Dean as he pushed himself up, duly noting the rejuvenated ease in which his mended body responded to his commands. Dammit Cas.

Looking around, he didn't see Sam or Cas anywhere in the bunker and immediately his heart picked up speed. Maybe he was just being an overprotective mother, who the hell knew? But he couldn't bring himself to calm down until he found the two people who mattered most to him in the world safe still inside the bunker. Darkness and the end of the world as they knew it be damned, he was going to find his friends first.

"Sammy!" He called, keeping a firm hold on the trench coat that he'd swathed his arms in. "Sam! Cas!" He kept at it.

"Dean?" A voice far away responded and the faint rumble of footsteps engaged until Sam stood before him, panting and worried. "What's wrong?" He asked, his tongue slipping in worry, "what is it?" His eyes panned over his older brother and he noticed the coat and restored state of his body. "Cas do this?" Sam motioned over the sight before him.

"No, it was the tooth fairy," Dean couldn't help remarking. Sam pouted and stared at a wall until it passed. "Of course it was, genius. Now, where is he?"

Sam shrugged. "I haven't seen him," he admitted.

"Shit," Dean cursed. "Castiel!" he addressed the air loudly. "Now's not the time for a game of hide-and-seek, get your feathery ass out here!" There was no response. Not even a disturbance of the air.

Sam shook his head in confusion and raised his eyebrows only to have them plunging back down again as he frowned. Dean's attention manifested itself present again and he followed his brother's gaze.

"Hey, what's this?" He nodded toward a piece of paper on the counter that looked more like a death warrant than a grocery list if Dean had ever seen one.

"Wait," Dean strangled out, fisting his hand in Sam's shirt to stop him. "You don't think he—"

"We've got to read it to find out," Sam offered as tenderly as he could. At first, he'd been offended when Castiel admitted to sharing a more profound bond with his brother, but he realized it was better this way. Dean needed someone to care for him as much as he did. The only problem was that as much as they were each other's strengths and shielding armor, they were now too each other's vulnerabilities—chinks in that armor.

Sam knew Dean was never going to grab that note on his own. So he assumed the liability and gingerly lifted the paper to be read. Although, both parties already knew what that frail letter contained even before Sam's expression confirmed it.

Dean had angled himself so he couldn't read the note, only his brother's eyes. It was all he needed to see. As he watched as Sam's face slowly broke, Dean felt his legs grow weak.

"No—" was all he could muster even before Sam had finished reading. The younger hunter looked up over the edge of the paper.

"Dean," he nearly whispered, "Dean, I'm sorry." He held the letter out for his brother to read but Dean only clenched shut his eyes with profound fierceness and stumbled back a step, his hands clamping white against the counter. Sam inched forward but didn't dare touch him. Not now.

His brother was too close to shattering for good. They'd lost too many already. Cas couldn't be next. "D—" Sam's voice hitched and he cleared his throat and tried again, "Dean. I'm sor—"

" _Don't!_ " Dean threw his hands up as though Sam were offering him some physical offense. There was a pregnant pause. And then Dean thrusted his eyes open. Sam saw they were full of unshed tears. His brother swallowed his sorrow and clenched his jaw in determination. Driven, he began stalking around the bunker with blazing intensity, gathering guns, an angel blade, and a few canisters of holy water and salt.

It took Sam less than three seconds to discover his brother's intentions. Sadly, he professed, "Dean. You can't."

"The _hell_ I can't, Sam!" Dean growled, slamming a fist into the counter. He jabbed a finger at the air and pointed at him. "If there is any— _any_ chance at all that Cas is still alive out there right now, then dammit I am _not_ going to just sit here and let him become chum for those bastards."

Sam observed him with something akin to exhaustion. "What do you plan on doing?" He asked, tired of feeling this panic.

"Cas went in search of Michael and Lucifer. But those angel-bitches want me, right?" Dean loaded his gun with a click, "so they can have me."

"No, Dean—"

"You got any better ideas?" Not today.

It took only five more minutes of gathering items and securing the bunker before the two hunters strode out the door and into the darkness once more. Behind them, they left a single piece of paper that still sat on the counter, fluttering in their wake. But the man it had been meant for would never read the words on that page. Words which might have saved his life. Words that read:

 _Dean_

 _I'm sorry for every pain I've caused you and I'm sorry for the ones I will cause as this will no doubt find you after I've found my fate. But believe me when I say that the pain was worth it. Every wound I sustained, every bullet, stab, monster, demon, angel that offered us threat was worth the pain if it meant you would always believe in me—if it meant that you would keep your faith in me. Because, Dean, you were the one soul who always did. And I'll be forever grateful for that as you healed me in more ways than I ever could you. Let this not be my note of goodbye. For I know now I'll never truly be without you and Sam. You once told me I was family. A Winchester. So let me be to you what you've always been to me. Let me be your brother. Let me be your shelter. And I promise everything will be okay. I promise I'll go with you and Sam. I'll always go with you. After all…it is the Winchester way._

 _Castiel_

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 **I did pull a song lyric for Cas' letter from NEEDTOBREATHE 's song Brother. It's a phenomenal song and I'm pretty sure there are a few Spn takes on it ;) _Please, please, please_ let me know what you think of my writing or just this story in general! Even if you are extremely brutal because I am just a terrible writer who needs to be enlightened (which I hope is not the case), please let me know! Until tomorrow peeps. Happy reading :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here we are, folks! The longest and final chapter! It is chalk-full of angst just like I promised. If you really want it to do a number, pick out some sad music and play it in the background. That's how I wrote this. I hope you enjoyed the story and that this last update doesn't disappoint. Forewarning: _Major Character Death._**

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 _CAS!_ The prayer shredded its way through Castiel's mind as he battled in raging fury. Usually, he basked in the presence of Dean's thoughts. But this time, it drove in him a ravage anxiety and he used it as fuel to move more quickly, jab more efficiently, parry more lithely. The Winchesters had found his note too soon. And now they were going to pay the price for his betrayal of their trust. He couldn't—no he _refused_ to let that happen. So he smote two more demons with aggressive hands and pushed onward.

It only occurred to Castiel after that the prayer Dean had projected was not exclusive. He realized he was praying to all of heaven—the entirety of the garrison. His charge had stupidly broadcasted his voice for every angel to hear and discover his location. And it made him falter. It made him weak. Because Castiel knew what Dean was doing. He was drawing the archangels toward him.

"Michael!" Cas shouted across the way. The two archangels were most likely waiting inside for Castiel to arrive. "Lucifer! I must speak with you!"

Unwittingly, Cas had turned his back to an approaching demon. With the angel distracted, the demon saw its chance to leap onto him and took it, sending him sprawling against the cold floor. His angel blade clattered away from him but Cas rolled over, throwing a well-placed punch into the demon's nose. It howled but jabbed back with its blade, slicing a deep gash in Cas' upper thigh. In retaliation, Cas spun the other way and feigned a move to the left so the demon would expose his right and he could jab him again with his foot. The demon stumbled and Cas brought his elbow down on the thing's back.

His angel blade. He needed to get to it before the archangels showed. In his haste to retrieve his weapon, Castiel hadn't smote the demon. And after picking up the silver dagger, Cas turned around to find the demon poised to strike a fatal blow. Adrenaline claimed him, but it wouldn't be enough to save him. There wasn't enough time to smite the demon before the Castiel was killed.

But he would go down trying…for Sam and Dean. Just as he thrust his hand up to smite the demon, a sword plunged through the demon's core and caused it to thrash wildly on the floor as Hell's light and smoke was burned from its vessel.

Cas looked up to meet his savior, eyes coming level with his brother's.

"Michael," Castiel growled.

"Hello, brother," he said, cleanly yanking his weapon from the demon's flesh and wiping it against his shirt. "Pity, that," he said, nudging the body with his foot. "He was one of our best warriors. You just _had_ to parade in and demand we speak. So," he held his hands out, "here I am." Before Castiel could answer, Michael began to stride away, into a different room of the warehouse. The moment they entered, Cas could feel the magic that ensnared the walls. They stopped.

"Where's Lucifer?" Cas phrased it so it wasn't a question, rather an ultimatum.

"Why? Am I not enough?"

"You know very well why, Michael," Cas stepped closer, his blue eyes narrowing and darkening.

Michael didn't retreat. He even leaned closer. "Then you should be able to answer that question, Cassie," he smirked.

"You will not harm the Winchesters."

"And why not?"

"Because. You will take my Grace—all of it—and you will combine it with your own to manifest enough power to contain the darkness once more. You will find another way to keep it locked without damning another soul. And Dean will walk free of the mark."

Michael leaned back, intrigued. He brought a pensive hand up to his chin. "You're willing to surrender your Grace for this human?"

"I've fallen before," Cas justified.

Feathers ruffling notified the two of another presence. Red wings appeared before them and Lucifer stepped forward. "'Ello again, Cassie. Come to bargain your Grace away?" He laughed.

"Yes."

His laughter was cut off abruptly. He turned to his brother. "Is he being serious?"

Michael only stared back.

Confusion was replaced with a horrifying look of utter glee and Lucifer began to cackle again. "Oh, Castiel!" he hooted. "You might want to reconsider!" With a yank, Dean came stumbling into view from behind Lucifer's wings.

"Let him go!" Cas all but snarled and tried to propel himself toward Dean to get him away from his brothers.

Michael stopped his efforts with his angel blade. "Enough, Castiel." He strolled forward a ways before turning around. "I'm sorry," Michael sneered. "But you see. Containing this force will require much more than just one little angel's Grace. This force is of pure sin and debauchery. To construct its equal, we need an opposing force of equal stamina. Come back when you have the Grace of twenty angels. Then we'll consider your offer."

"For now," Lucifer sighed. "I'm afraid your pathetic human will suffice once we find a way to rebrand the scrawny steer." He elbowed Dean playfully. "Isn't that right, Dean-o." Cas' eyes hardened as he saw Dean wince while refusing to meet his gaze.

"Take my life, then" Cas shoved the words at his brother. "An angel's life surrendered willingly will increase your powers tenfold without butchering twenty more of our kind. Just do as I asked, and it's yours."

" _Cas—_ " A punch to the gut silenced the hunter.

Lucifer and Michael shared a knowing glance, seeming to speak with their eyes. Finally, Dean saw Michael nod. Suddenly, Dean was flailing from a shove to his back and he slammed against a wall. Red tinged the edges of his vision and he faded in and out of awareness dizzily.

What he saw, though, was enough to wrench him back to reality. Castiel was restrained on his knees by Lucifer while Michael readied the angel blade. This was actually going to happen. They were going to reap his friend's life right before his eyes.

Dean pushed himself from the ground and onto wobbly legs. He needed to remain as stealthy as possible if this was going to work. No one was dying. Not if he could help it.

He dove for Cas' discarded angel blade and wrapped his hands around it strongly. He was running out of time. Cas could be dead in seconds.

Whirling around, Dean saw Michael's hand raised, poised to strike true in Castiel's vessel and steal his life for good. Hell no.

With a rabid cry, Dean threw himself at Michael and buried his own blade deep in his spine, twisting the metal as he felt it strike the angel's core. A new intensity burned dangerously as Michael's vessel's convulsed and wailed. Light and Grace spilled from every orifice of his body until nothing remained but a steaming shell.

Dean watched in slow motion as the once-angel collapsed to the ground. Two black imprints slowly charred and burned themselves into the ground beneath him, wings spread in finality. It was done. Or at least half of it.

The other half was breathing heavily behind Cas, his eyes taking in the sight of his dead brother strewn before him messily, discarded like some unloved child's plaything.

Quickly, Dean moved forward and grabbed Cas away from the madman, ushering him to stand. Together, they moved away from the fuming archangel, watching as he knelt before his brother and observed him. His hands wavered over his body shakily as though gaging if he could be healed. But Dean knew he had finished the job.

"Now might be the time to mojo us out of here, bud," Dean's eyes darted nervously, searching for escape.

"My powers," Cas stated thinly, "they're blocked in here."

"Then we find a way to get out of this damn room," Dan said as if the answer were obvious.

"No one—is going—anywhere," Lucifer spoke menacingly between breaths. He slowly straightened up on his legs, looming over his dead brother. "Give me what you promised, or I'll slay you both here and now."

Dean shot Cas a warning look, but it didn't work. His angel stepped in front of him.

"Human life is expendable. I'll find some other wretch to hold the mark. You want your precious charge to live, Castiel?!" His voice was growing in magnitude. "Surrender yourself!"

"Don't you do it," Dean growled.

Cas had no qualms with dying for the Winchesters. But he knew Dean was right this time. There was just no way of ensuring Lucifer wouldn't just turn around and kill Dean after he had gone. There was only one option. One way out. Fight.

Castiel turned slightly, sharing a look with Dean so they both knew what needed to happen next. He blinked once, and then they lunged.

Dean was faster; he was able to collide with Lucifer's blade first and together they parried and swirled and jabbed, waiting to exploit the moment when the other slipped up first. Only a split second later, Castiel had descended upon his older brother as well. But Lucifer matched the pair with startling ease. His time in Hell had done him adequately, turning him into some beast of damnation.

It was when Dean was caught off guard, busy making sure Cas didn't slip up that he was barreled into by Lucifer's leg which had swung around and caught him in the chest. With the wind knocked out of him, he puffed for air, oxygen entering and leaving his mouth but never reaching his lungs. Dean clawed, stumbling back a step until Lucifer finally rammed into him and he went soaring through the air. With a deafening snap, Dean hit the wall and slid to the ground. He looked unconscious.

Cas was left to contend with the devil. He tried to make sure Dean was still breathing, but couldn't obtain much of a look with Lucifer holding his concentration so steadily. _With_ Dean, they had been able to match him. Hell, maybe they could have beaten him eventually.

But just Cas alone—a smaller, weaker angel against a fallen archangel. The fate of the fight was predetermined at best. And so it was with fatalistic resignation that Cas' angel blade was knocked from his grasp and clanged unceremoniously to the floor.

He saw the flash of Lucifer's archangel blade diving to meet him and tried to find Dean once more, one final time. But what found him first was a colossal weight being slammed into his side painfully. Cas tumbled to the ground and crashed hideously into the cement floor. He half expected the torment to continue, waiting for the next blow. But something inside him ripped.

It felt as though Lucifer had taken his Grace with his grimy hands and tore it in two. It was no physical pain to his vessel. It was celestial pain. With horror, Cas immediately realized what had happened. His mission. The one thing he was supposed to protect with his life. His charge.

There was a cry of pain and Castiel whipped around, ignoring the stabbing sting in his Grace. Where he had been standing not seconds before was Dean, an angel blade buried in his stomach, impaling him out the back like a skewer. His own blade, he had wedged into the heart of his murderer who stood flaking to ash before him. But Castiel didn't care about Lucifer, or Michael, or the mark, or even the darkness that was slowly closing in on their stronghold. His only thought was Dean. Dean who believed in him—trusted him. Dean who had become so much more than just his mission. Dean who had become his brother. He had saved him by sacrificing himself. He had taken his blade. " _No._ " strangled from his lips in a harsh whisper.

"I'll see you in Hell," Dean hissed out between bloodied lips at the shocked archangel. Lucifer huffed once, eyes piercing into Dean's before he toppled from the force of his appropriated Grace escaping him.

Cas was paralyzed, unable to budge a muscle until he saw Dean falter where he stood, his knees shaking dangerously. In one swift movement, Cas had lurched to his feet and rushed to meet Dean before he collapsed, catching the bloody hunter around the waist and holding him up. "Dean," he growled as if chastising a child again. He tried to position him on his feet, in clear denial that this was anything as bad as it was. But he only collapsed again, falling against Castiel's chest. He could feel the hilt of the blade that was still deep in Dean's gut poking against his own as Dean's hot blood pooled against him and dripped down his clothes gruesomely. An equal amount was splurging from his back that Cas so desperately pressed his hand against to staunch the flow of life from his charge.

"Cas," Dean gurgled through a gasp of agony. He convulsed once from the pain.

"Shhh," Cas hushed gently as he took Dean in his arms and slowly lowered them to a more stable and comfortable place on the ground. "Dammit Dean, what have you done?" The usual collected manner that he spoke with was replaced with devastation. The very voice he spoke with shook.

Dean's hands fumbled with the blade that protruded from his abdomen, his fingers slipping for purchase against the handle as he tried to liberate it from his body. "No, Dean," Cas murmured, "you must leave it. It's going to keep you alive—stem the blood flow."

A sharp laugh trickled from Dean's mouth, but it sounded more like a choke to Castiel. "We both know—" he coughed wetly, blood beginning to fill between his lips. He attempted again, gasping, "We both know—that—this is where—where the road ends—for me."

"Stop it, Dean!" Cas was angry. "You aren't dying here! You aren't going to leave Sam! We only need to get you out of this room. Once my powers are restored, I will be able to heal you." Dean's eyes glassed over transitorily. "Dean?" He shook the limp hunter. " _Dean!"_ He was shouting now, roughly holding his face between his red hands, not caring about the smears.

Once he saw flickers of presence returning, Cas steadied his nerves and used that catatonic moment to stand up and cradle his charge against his chest. He knew if Dean had been aware of it, the movement would have jostled his wound and flared his pain. This was better. Although he wished Dean would return to him as he stepped quickly toward the exit—toward where he knew he could use his powers—toward the promise of Dean's life being saved.

A rattling gasp filled his ears and Cas looked down to see Dean blinking the mist from his eyes. He groaned in pain, whimpering through clenched teeth.

Once they had passed the threshold, Cas gingerly placed Dean against the wall, allowing him to sit while he evaluated the situation. It was decided. Castiel was going to have to remove blade from Dean if he wanted a chance at saving him. Even if that blade was the only thing plugging his wound at the moment, Dean was dying and needed help.

"Dean," Cas gripped Dean's shoulders. When he didn't respond, Cas frantically moved his hands up toward his neck, cupping it urgently. " _Dammit, Dean! Look at me!_ " Dean blinked in response, his eyes coming into focus. "I'm going to take the blade out now," he instructed. "This is going to be painful."

Dean nodded, licking his bloodstained lips. Cas reached down and wrapped a firm grip around the handle before giving a single jerk. The blade slid out, Dean arching with it into Cas' waiting embrace. "Aauh!"

Cas tossed the blade aside without a word, refusing to acknowledge that it had been painted completely with Dean's blood and gently laid Dean back against the wall. He promptly extended his palm over the wound and summoned forth his angelic essence. Grace and power began pooling in his core, heeding the pull of their vessel toward the outstretched hand. It poured from his palm in a wash of shimmering blue and lapped like waves against the wound.

But…nothing was happening. Cas frowned and urged more of his Grace to spew forth. He would expel it all from his body if he needed to. Dean was going to be healed. He was going to make it.

"Cas," a wrangled pant came from Dean. He reached a feeble hand up and tugged at Castiel's sleeve. He was wearing his black suit as his trench coat had been left back at the bunker. "You can't."

Cas ignored him and pushed more, face contorting from the strain. It was starting to become painful, this draining. But he would see it through.

" _Cas_ ," Dean coughed again. He finally stopped trying and looked down at his human.

"I won't give up on you, Dean."

Dean smiled through the tears that were threatening to fall. "I know, bud—but—" his chest heaved, "the blade—it had a—a spell on it. Kinda—kills your mojo."

"Dean," Cas could feel himself cracking.

"Thanks for—for one hell of—a ride, Cas," Dean's eyes fluttered.

Castiel became hysterical. There was something in his eyes. He'd never felt it before and it burned unpleasantly. But he didn't care. He took Dean's face in his hands. "Dean Winchester," the words felt heavy in his mouth. "Don't you dare close your eyes. I will heal you. I promised you I would. I'm going to—I'm going to heal you."

Dean just took another raspy breath as the blood finally spilled from his lips and trickled down his chin. With a shaky thumb, Cas brushed the color away. "Dean—" his voice broke and he felt a sob tear through his lips. In defiance, he gently moved so he was sitting against the wall instead and Dean's back was laid up against his chest. He tried to forget how warm and sodden Dean's back was against his chest. With purposed hands, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's torso and held pressure against his wound. He began summoning his Grace again and poured a steady stream of it into Dean.

"Cas," he mumbled, "s-top."

Castiel didn't listen. A wave a pain rippled across Dean's body and made him convulse lightly in Cas' arms. Cas only tightened his hold on the hunter, enveloping him more. He could feel his wings striving to burst forth and wrap around his charge to shelter him. But he suppressed the urge, holding Dean until the pain passed and he was still again. His blood was hot against his fingers. Too much blood had spilled. Too much. He summoned more Grace.

"You go-tta l'me go, Cas." Dean pushed out with what strength he had left. "You gah- l'me go."

"I won't." A broken angel. More Grace.

"Cas…Ple-ase, nnh." He growled in pain, clenching his eyes shut. "It's ki-lling you—"

"Dean," Cas protested in the grave voice of his that Dean loved so much, albeit weakly. He couldn't. He couldn't just give up. Dean had never given up on him. But his powers were failing him. If he didn't stop soon, he would extinguish like a candle and be of no use.

"Watch out—for Sammy—yeah?"

"Dean," he repeated, water dripping from his face. Was he crying? He'd never cried before. Finally, his Grace faltered and dwindled away, leaving Cas to clutch desperately to his charge.

The sudden contact startled Cas when Dean lifted his hand to touch Castiel's face. Gingerly, he wrapped his fingers around the hunter's and held them there when they threatened to fall in enervation. Carefully, he brought them up to his lips and gave them a chaste kiss, squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel Dean relax in his arms, breathing deeply as the light was incessantly snuffed from his soul.

That bright soul that once burned with the intensity of five stars now only flickered, lapping at the sides of Cas' essence like a drying puddle that was once an ocean. When Cas felt Dean's hand go limp in his own was also when he saw the last spark of his soul sputter and go out completely, the ocean empty, the candle dark, his hunter—his charge…gone.

"Dean," Cas breathed, refusing to believe it. " _DEAN?!_ " he cried, shaking the hunter's limp body. Dean's eyes didn't open. His breath didn't start. His heart didn't beat. Dean just rested lifelessly against Castiel, leaking blood more slowly now onto his clothes.

He had failed. Castiel had failed the Winchesters.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, drawing him tighter into him. The blood was still burning against his skin. Dean's body was still warm against his. But he could feel the steady surrender leaving him colder and colder. Too cold. This wasn't Dean. "I'm so sorry, Dean!"

He couldn't control himself anymore. In a surge of anguish, Castiel's wings burst from his back, arching and stretching as Cas let out a shattered yell. The lights in the warehouse exploded in a torment of showering sparks before they blew and lightning shattered the sky all around them. As he quieted, his wings wrapped around the pair, encapsulating them in a shell of onyx feathers.

It would take three hours before Castiel could move again. Dean would still be warm with the life of his angel around him, his face peaceful as though he was only sleeping and would return to him and Sam the next morning. He would get in his baby, his Impala and drive to some obsolete town, cracking jokes, and flirting with girls, and drinking beer, and he would hunt again. He would hunt again with his brother and his angel at his side. Because he wasn't gone. He couldn't be.

Yet the gaping wound in his abdomen and back indicated otherwise. And despite the residual warmth in Dean's body, Cas would never feel colder. And the world would never brighten again the way it used to for Castiel. His wings would never carry him the same. He would never walk amongst men without being haunted—looking for Dean Winchester in every face, searching for his green eyes in every gaze, his burning aura in every soul. For an angel had just lost his charge. And it had broken him.

* * *

Sam had been left behind when Lucifer had taken Dean. He had angrily called forth every celestial being that existed to help him and take him to his brother. But the darkness was too thick. And those who did hear did not dare brave the sin.

So when Castiel returned to the bunker with the lifeless body of his brother in his arms, Sam buckled where he stood. Something deep down told him it was for good this time. There would be no getting his older brother back. And at that moment, he knew what needed to happen.

From a box hidden in their safe at the bunker, Sam pulled out two letters. One was addressed to him and the other to Castiel. There was no explanation. He simply handed it to the angel before removing himself to read his own in solitude.

Castiel would not open the letter. He and Sam would go forth to fight the darkness. With the aid of a few extra angels and spells, they would contain the wrath again. Earth would return to its daily safety. Each day the sun would rise and set and hunters would kill demons and send ghosts to rest. But Dean would not be one of them.

Castiel would not open the letter Dean left him until after Sam decided to put away his hunting weapons and hang up the keys to the Impala. Because that would mean he was accepting that Dean would never return. And Castiel wasn't ready to say goodbye yet. He wouldn't be ready until team Free Will disbanded for the last time. It would take a long time for Castiel to be ready. And when he was, the letter would read:

 _So I died, huh? I mean you wouldn't be reading this if I didn't so I guess that settles it. I'm gone. But you know better than anyone, hunters are about as reckless as they come. I'd be surprised if you never got the chance to read this. I guess that's why I wrote it. Well, it was actually Bobby's idea. The guy wouldn't leave it for shit until I took care of this. But I gotta give him some credit, 'cause, I mean, he was right. What we do—hunting and being bad-asses is the best job description I can think of—it means that we could die at any moment. So Bobby made Sam and me write to the people who matter to us these letters that settle things for after we're gone. Because we probably won't have enough time for those long-winded goodbyes people get in those cheesy chick-flick tragedies. Our deaths will most likely be fast, bloody, and terminating. So we wrote. At first, I gotta tell you, I only had one letter. And, surprise, surprise, it was for Sam. But the minute I discovered that you were the one who gave me that huge friggin' five star on my shoulder, I knew I needed to extend the list._

 _Cas, I know how you must feel right now. I know because I felt it once when I thought that April bitch had ganked you for good. And another time with the leviathan, in purgatory, and, hell, the list goes on. The thing is, is that every time, I was so scared and lost until I knew you were alive again that I didn't want to know what it felt like when you really left for good. And I'm not one for Hallmark moments or any of that "life is a metaphor" crap, you know I'm not. But the only way I can describe it is that I got so damn lucky to operate on the same frequency as you. Yeah, what the hell, am I right? It's true though. When you pulled me out of Hell, I couldn't see you. But I could feel you. It was like you were on some other radio station. Then, I don't know, something switched that put you in sync with me, like we were finally in the same frequency. You were with me and Sam and from that moment on, I was so damn glad to have someone else worth lengthening this stupid list for. So I know it must be hard, and hell it probably hurts something fierce. But you have to know that my death is no ones' fault. It's not Sam's. It's not yours. So you can't turn off like I know you will. You can't disappear from Sam like I know you could. Because you kept us strong, Cas. And I'm not gone. Not really. No, man. All this means is that I've only switched frequencies again. I'll still be there, you just won't be able to tell. Wherever you and Sam go, I'll go too. I'll always go with you. Until then. Over and out.._

 _Dean_

* * *

 **PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this story and my writing (this is me begging for reviews). I need feedback and would love to hear what my readers have to say. I wouldn't be here without you guys so let me know how I did. Thanks to everyone who came to read tuned in! Special thanks to inkpen112 for favoriting, Crowley'sMooseSquirrel'sAngel, DearHart, GreenHorn22, and inkpen112 for following, and my 6 reviewers for sharing your opinions!** **I hope it was worth the read :** **)**


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